


Saying Goodbye

by ellerkay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Incest, M/M, Slash, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:29:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4670084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellerkay/pseuds/ellerkay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-series. First time. Sam tries to seduce Dean, who is doing his damnedest to ignore it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saying Goodbye

Sam was acting like a freaking lunatic, and it was starting to make Dean feel like he was crazy, too.  
  
Okay, so Sammy was newly eighteen, and he had just graduated high school last week (an accomplishment that made Dean feel like he was going to burst with pride, not that he’d ever admit that to his brother). But that didn’t give Sam the right to pick a fight with their father every other day, way above their usual average. And when he wasn’t arguing, he was stalking around the house without a shirt on, randomly dropping down into sets of fast push-ups, and generally acting like a bundle of excitement and nerves that made Dean’s skin crawl whenever they were in the same room for more than two minutes at a time. Which was often. But that wasn’t the worst of it.  
  
The worst of it was that…insane, sick, and unbelievable as it might be…Sam seemed to be trying to seduce Dean. And Dean was not okay with that.  
  
All right. It’s not like he’d never thought about it. Sam was – Sam was Sam. He was the most important person in Dean’s world. He was practically the _only_ person in Dean’s world. And Dean loved him. He loved him like a brother, and he loved him like…  
  
Until recently, this was usually about as far as Dean got with this train of thought before he decided to get blackout drunk and fuck anyone who’d have him. Anything to shut off his brain, anything to scrub himself clean of the twisted, wrong feeling that clenched his guts when Sam would wander out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, beads of water still shining on his chest and in his stupid hair, wet tendrils stuck to his neck. When Sam did sit-ups to pass the time, when he changed in front of Dean, never caring if Dean saw everything.  
  
Dean changed behind closed doors, because he wasn’t a freaking exhibitionist like his weirdo brother. He didn’t assume that Sam wanted to see that shit.  
  
Of course, that wasn’t what Sam assumed, or so Dean had always figured. Sam, Dean had believed, just thought that they were brothers, who had lived together in close quarters forever and who gave a shit if they caught a glimpse of each other’s family jewels every so often? Dean might have some sort of fucked-up, incestuous attraction to Sam, but he thought Sammy was better than all that. That Dean had managed to suppress whatever was there in him (and most of the time, he wouldn’t even admit to himself that it _was_ there), and not somehow pass it on to his little brother.  
  
But it looked like Dean had fucked this up, too.  
  
Because now, Sam had turned all those obnoxious behaviors up to eleven. He _never_ seemed to wear a goddamn shirt anymore, and twice now he had yelled to Dean from the bathroom that he’d forgotten a towel, forcing Dean to bring him one and opening the door fully to expose his naked torso when Dean arrived with it. Sam wasn’t discreet when he jerked off in the shower anymore; as long as their dad wasn’t around, he was moaning so loud Dean couldn’t drown him out without turning the volume on the TV up till their neighbors complained.  
  
Sam stared at Dean while they watched TV, till Dean yelled at him to cut it out already. He sat too close to Dean on the couch, even when there was plenty of room. Dean would shift down till he was squeezed into the corner, but Sam followed him, their arms and legs pressed together and Dean dizzy with the smell of Sam’s hair, his body.  
  
Sam was plying him with alcohol and leaning in too close when they talked and taking every opportunity to touch him and looking up at him from under his lashes. Licking his lips when he knew Dean was looking, till Dean wanted to punch him right in his pretty mouth.  
  
For awhile, Dean had thought he was imagining it. That this attraction to his own flesh and blood had finally warped his mind so badly that he thought his feelings were returned. But Dean knew from flirting, and this – this was flirting. This was more than flirting, really; Sam might as well have had a big neon sign over his head that said “FUCK ME” in flashing red lights.  
  
Naturally, Dean ignored it all.  
  
Sam had graduated high school. That meant they’d be spending more time together than ever, when the lease on their house ran out in a couple weeks (marking the end of the post-graudation vacation Sam had requested) and the three of them hit the road for real, with no more school to slow them down. It was the worst possible time for Sam and Dean to start fucking.  
  
Not that there was a _good_ time for them to start fucking, obviously. It just wasn’t going to happen. Dean wouldn’t let it. He might be fucked in the head and he might have fucked Sammy’s head up without meaning to, but he was sure that if he just kept on playing deaf, dumb and blind to Sam’s advances, eventually Sam would forget all about it.  
  
So Dean stoically pretended he had no idea what his little brother was trying to accomplish. He moved away from every touch, he laughed off every thinly veiled come-on, he looked away when Sam paraded his body around in front of him. Dean went to bed every night with a raging hard on, and sometimes he had to take care of business a couple times during the day, too, but it was a small price to pay to keep from screwing up his brother for good.  
  
And then, one night, Dean found Sam naked in his bed, fingers curled around his cock, half-hard already.  
  
Sam had been particularly relentless that night. Cuddling up to Dean on the couch – the stupid jerk had actually rested his head on Dean’s shoulder. _What the fuck kind of monster is this kid?_ Dean thought, through a four-beer haze. Later, Sam had laid his hand gently on Dean’s knee. He didn’t stroke his leg or run his fingers up Dean’s inseam, or anything, but Dean had sat, frozen, cock throbbing. He bolted as soon as the show they were watching ended, brushing his teeth fast and splashing water on his face. He was so on edge he thought about jerking off right there, but he figured he’d be in his bed in a few minutes, and what was a few minutes more?  
  
Dean was regretting this decision now. He stared at Sam, who was splayed on his bed, the long limbs Sam still hadn’t quite mastered seeming to be all over the place. Dean decided he was going to leave – leave the room, at least, maybe the house. Go for a walk; their dad had the car, he was gone until tomorrow afternoon at least. A walk would clear Dean’s head.  
  
But he felt trapped in the small room of their rented house. The warm June night had made the air feel hot and claustrophobic, and Dean couldn’t stop looking, looking, looking at Sam, who gave a couple soft tugs on his cock. Dean could _see_ it filling. Sam gave a soft moan, and Dean audibly sucked in a breath.  
  
Sam opened his eyes lazily, unsurprised to see Dean in the doorway. “Hey, Dean,” he said, voice dripping with sex and where the _fuck_ had he learned to sound like that?  
  
“What – ” Dean’s voice was unsteady, so he quickly cleared his throat. “What are you doing, Sam?”  
  
“I kind of thought it was obvious,” Sam said, smirking. Dean glared at him, feeling a little more sure of himself now that Sam was being a dick.  
  
“Well, do it somewhere else,” he said.  
  
Sam shut his eyes and squeezed his cock, hips rising, mouth falling slack.  
  
“Sammy, stop it,” Dean said, but it came out breathy, not at all like he’d intended. Sam opened his eyes again.  
  
“Dean, c’mere,” he said softly.  
  
And now, _now_ Dean could move.  
  
“I’m getting the fuck out of here,” he declared, and turned around.  
  
“Dean, wait,” Sam said, and Dean had to stop, trapped again by the desperate note in Sam’s voice. He had one hand on the doorframe, letting it take some of his weight, standing stock still. He would wait, but there was no way he was going to turn around. He couldn’t look at that anymore.  
  
The bedsprings creaked as Sam got up and padded towards him. It wasn’t a long journey. Sam stopped, close to him, but not too close. Dean could still breathe.  
  
“Dean, it’s okay,” Sam said. He put his hand on Dean’s lower back, and Dean tensed immediately, all too aware of the warmth of Sam’s hand through his thin cotton t-shirt.  
  
“This is not okay, Sammy,” Dean said, voice rough and shaky. “Nothing about this is okay. How the _fuck_ is this okay?”  
  
And Sam, damn the bastard, he stepped closer, and he started _rubbing Dean’s back_ , and just who the fuck did he think he was with that shit?  
  
Sam took a deep breath. “I know you want to, Dean,” he said. He wasn’t quite whispering in Dean’s ear, but he was too damn close for Dean’s comfort. “I want to, too. I have for a long time.”  
  
“Whatever we might or might not want, we can’t,” Dean said harshly. “Sam, you’re talking about – ” He couldn’t bring himself to say the word _incest_. “It’s just not right.”  
  
He could feel Sam shrug. “It’s kind of a socially constructed thing, isn’t it? The taboo. It’s ingrained in people to avoid inbreeding.” Sam had had too much school, that was obvious. “But it’s not like anybody’s going to get pregnant if we – ” He stopped. Dean wheeled around.  
  
“If we what, Sam?” he demanded. Sam’s mouth set in its most stubborn line.  
  
“If we _fuck_ ,” he said. Dean swallowed. He’d hoped Sam wouldn’t be able to say it. Now they were face to face, and way too close. Dean could feel the heat radiating off Sam’s body, and his erection had gone nowhere.  
  
“Not gonna happen,” he said.  
  
“Why not? And don’t say because it’s wrong.”  
  
“What more reason do you need?”  
  
“Dean –”  
  
“Sam, we live together! We’re together all the time! How would we even look each other in the eye if we –” He still couldn’t say it.  
  
Something flashed in Sam’s eyes, but it was gone before Dean could figure out what it was. Sam sighed.  
  
“We’d figure it out.”  
  
“No, we wouldn’t! Don’t you think we’re fucked up enough without – ” Before he could finish his sentence, Sam had grabbed his face and pressed their lips together.  
  
Dean tried to resist, tried to break away. Jesus, when had Sam gotten so _strong_? But Sam wouldn’t let go and he wouldn’t stop, and after a moment, Dean shuddered and gave in. A small moan escaped him, muffled against Sam’s mouth, and Sam licked softly at his lips until Dean opened them. He clutched at Sam’s forearms when Sam’s tongue touched his. Sam made a small sound and started pulling him towards the bed. Head spinning, it was all Dean could do to follow him.  
  
Sam broke the kiss and sat down on the bed, looking up at Dean. Dean stared at him dumbly, and after a second, Sam tugged on his arm. Dean sat down next to him, feeling outside of himself, like this was a dream and he was watching it and participating in it at the same time. Sam leaned in to kiss him again. Dean kissed him back mechanically, and after a moment, Sam pulled back.  
  
“Dean, it’s okay,” he said.  
  
Dean shook his head. “’S not okay,” he said dully. “I’m sorry, Sammy.”  
  
Sam looked at him incredulously. “For what?”  
  
“I never meant to do this to you.”  
  
“Do this to me?” Sam cocked his head, puzzled. “I’ve been trying for weeks to get you to do this. If anything, I’m the one doing it to you.”  
  
“It’s my fault. I wanted this, and I must’ve…I must’ve passed it onto you, somehow.” Dean forced himself to meet his brother’s eyes. “Sam, I’m so sorry.”  
  
Sam half-smiled, shaking his head. “You have a really amazing way of blaming yourself for shit that isn’t your responsibility, do you know that? It’s not your fault. You didn’t do this to me. It just…it just happened.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, a sure sign of frustration. “I just want to…I just want you.” He raised his eyes to Dean’s again, a pleading expression on his face. “Okay?”  
  
Dean was nodding almost before he was aware of it. Sam needed him. Sam – against all odds, and against his best efforts – wanted him.  
  
“Okay,” he said. “Okay, Sammy.”  
  
The look relief on Sam’s face eased the tightness in Dean’s chest. It was okay. They’d figure it out. Sam was moving towards him again, and this time, Dean didn’t hesitate when their lips met. He kissed Sam back, hard, and Sam was sliding his tongue into Dean’s mouth again, not soft this time, shoving it in till Dean thought he would choke, but it was _Sam_ and Dean only wanted it harder.  
  
Sam’s hands were under his shirt and pulling it over his head before Dean had time to think, not that he wanted to think, not now. Not with Sam’s mouth on his neck, licking, sucking, and Dean tensed again – what if Dad saw the marks? – but he would assume it was a girl, wouldn’t he? So Dean relaxed again, leaning into Sam’s touch.  
  
Because Sam’s fingers were all over him, pressing into his side, skittering down his spine, making his back arch. And then Sam was pressing his palm against Dean’s cock, which was leaking through his jeans, he was so turned on. Sam’s fingers again, fumbling with the button, the zipper, and when they curled around his cock, Dean thought he was going to die, maybe, but who really gave a fuck?  
  
He remembered then that he wasn’t giving back the way he should be, hands limp at his sides. He wasn’t taking care of Sammy, and who was he, if he wasn’t doing that? So Dean leaned forward, reached out, did his best to ignore the impossibly perfect feeling of Sam’s hand on his cock so he could slide a hand up Sam’s back, put the other on Sam’s thigh. He’d get higher, he just needed a minute.  
  
Sam’s lips on his again, the kiss going on and on, and when Dean breathed in deep through his nose and let his knuckles brush against Sam’s cock, Sam made a little noise that made Dean’s cock jump. Sam squeezed him, and Dean did his best to ignore it. He wrapped his hand around Sam and started stroking him slowly. Sam broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against Dean’s, gasping softly, forgetting to move his hand on Dean’s cock, but Dean didn’t care; he was taking care of Sammy.  
  
Until Sammy fucked it up again, pulling away so fast that for a second, Dean’s heart was in his throat, thinking maybe his brother was having second thoughts. But Sam just pushed him down on his back, using that new, annoying strength of his. He kissed Dean again, quickly this time, but with no less heat, and kissed and licked and nipped his way down Dean’s torso.  
  
Dean’s heart pounded; he tried to concentrate on what was happening, but all he could think about was where Sammy was headed, but he couldn’t be – he couldn’t –  
  
He could. Sam gave a long, slow lick up the underside of his shaft, and Dean bit his fist to stifle what might have been a scream. Sam was licking slow around the head, and then he was taking Dean down his throat, and Sam was moaning around him. With any other partner, with that kind of encouragement, Dean would have been grabbing fistfuls of hair and fucking a willing mouth, but this was Sam. So he fisted his hands in the bedsheets instead, and let Sam set the pace.  
  
It wasn’t slow, and Dean could only stare at Sammy’s bobbing head, trying not to thrust too hard, although his hips were rising, and Sam just took him deeper, swallowing him down.  
  
He was too wound up; there had been so much buildup, and way before he wanted it to be over, Dean was groaning, unable to hold back.  
  
“Sam,” he managed to gasp out. “Sam, you have to – I’m gonna – if you don’t stop, I’m gonna – ”  
  
Sam didn’t stop, cheeks hollowed, thumb and index finger working the base of Dean’s shaft, and Dean’s eyes rolled back in his head as he came with his brother’s name on his lips.  
  
A flush of shame threatened to wash over Dean as the aftershocks faded, but he pushed it away relentlessly. There was still Sammy to think of. He had to take care of Sammy.  
  
He sat up, breath still coming fast, and tried to think of what to say.  
  
“Wow,” he panted.  
  
That wasn’t so good.  
  
“Sam,” he tried. “That was – that was – ” What? The best blowjob he’d ever had? The hardest he’d ever come in his life? He knew what _this_ was, at least. This was fucking awkward.  
  
Sam saved him, swooping in for another kiss, and Dean could feel the tension in the muscles of Sam’s back, his need and his desire.  
  
“What do you want me to do to you?” Dean managed to get out, voice still rough and uncertain.  
  
Sam swallowed audibly. “Um,” he said. “I…how long till you can get hard again?”  
  
_What?_ “Why?”  
  
“Cause…” Sam nuzzled Dean’s neck again, cock pressing into Dean’s thigh. “I want…Do you want to fuck me?”  
  
Dean went still, trying to comprehend this. It’s not like it was a complicated notion, of course, but this...This was a line he’d never even let himself contemplate crossing, even when he couldn’t stop himself thinking about sex with his brother.  
  
He knew his answer, of course. He’s known it before the question had even been posed. Not letting himself imagine it had just thrown it into sharper relief, even as Dean refused to look at the thoughts he wasn’t thinking.  
  
Sam sat back, peering into his eyes, face vulnerable and so young Dean could hardly stand it.  
  
“Not that long,” he said.  
  
Sam frowned, confused.  
  
“It won’t take me that long to get hard again,” Dean said quickly, the words rushing out of his mouth. Sam’s eyes lit up, and he kissed Dean again, hot and insistent. After a moment, Dean pulled away.  
  
“Lie back,” he said, and Sam obeyed with surprising quickness. These days, he didn’t usually follow orders so easily.  
  
Dean was relieved to take control. Terrifying as it was to be given leave to do what he wanted to Sam’s body, it felt somehow closer to the normal order of things. He took his time, exploring every inch of Sam with his lips and fingers, till Sam was writhing under him. Eventually, he took his turn with Sam’s cock, sucking and licking it till Sam pulled him off, chest heaving.  
  
“Stop, stop,” he said, even as Dean was moving away. Dean carded his fingers in Sam’s hair, looking into his eyes and searching his face intently.  
  
“You want to stop, Sammy?” he asked carefully. Sam shook his head almost before Dean had gotten the question out.  
  
“No,” he said. “No. I wanna come with you inside me.”  
  
Dean had to look away then. He’d tried so hard never to think of Sam saying those words, and here he was –  
  
“Turn over,” he said abruptly, and Sam flipped over onto his stomach immediately. Dean grabbed the bottle of lube from his bedside table and poured a generous amount into his palm. Sam shivered at the cold when Dean’s fingers made contact with his hole, but when Dean eased a fingertip in, Sam was gasping and clenching around him, like he was trying to pull him deeper. When Dean pushed in further, Sam gave a groan that Dean wasn’t sure was all pleasure, and Dean stopped, a horrible idea striking him suddenly.  
  
“Sam, is this – it isn’t – ” Sam peeked over his shoulder, brow furrowed. Dean took a breath. “Is this your first time?”  
  
Sam looked down, and Dean’s heart almost stopped.  
  
“No,” Sam said finally, words coming out in a rush. “Once, just once – it wasn’t that good, I wished it was you –”  
  
Well, Dean thought, he certainly wasn’t going to have any trouble getting hard again.  
  
“’S okay,” he said quickly. “This is fucked up enough, I wouldn’t want me to be – ”  
  
“Just keep going, Dean,” Sam snapped, and Dean glared at him, but then Sam buried his face in a pillow, his next words muffled. “Please don’t stop.”  
  
So Dean curled his finger, searching for Sam’s prostate, and Sam’s body jerked when he found it, a soft cry falling from his lips. Dean kept going, taking his time, adding another finger, scissoring them slightly. By the time he got to three, Sam was grinding into the pillow Dean had eventually remembered to set under his hips.  
  
“Please, please, please,” Sam was moaning. “Dean, please fuck me, _please_.”  
  
Unable to trust his voice, Dean withdrew his fingers and grabbed a condom, lubing himself up thoroughly when he had it on. He paused, a hand on Sam’s hip, stroking his skin with a thumb.  
  
“You ready, Sammy?” he asked.  
  
“Yeah,” Sam sighed breathily. Dean clenched his jaw, letting the tip of his cock just nudge against Sam’s opening.  
  
“You sure?” he asked.  
  
Sam shot him another glare over his shoulder.  
  
“Jesus, Dean, do you need an embossed invitation?” he said. Dean glared back at him and pushed in halfway, annoyance making him go a little faster than he meant to. Sam’s eyelids fluttered closed, his head dropping on the pillow again, and Dean stopped immediately.  
  
“You okay?” he asked. Sam’s eyes flew open.  
  
“What the fuck, Dean?” he said. “Don’t _stop_.”  
  
Dean couldn’t even find it in himself to be irritated. He eased the rest of the way in, carefully monitoring Sam’s every sound and breath. When he was in as far as he could go, he paused, leaning forward to press a kiss to the back of Sam’s neck. Trying not to think about the fact that he was balls deep inside his little brother; unable to think about anything else.  
  
“Feels good, Dean,” Sam murmured. “I’m not gonna break.”  
  
_Maybe not, but I might_ , Dean thought. He pushed the thought away, concentrating on the heat, the clench of Sam around him. All the times he’d never thought about this. Blowjobs, handjobs, their cocks pressed together – those fantasies made him feel evil enough. But, this, this was –  
  
Sam was talking. “Please, Dean,” he said, the edge of a whimper in his voice. Dean shut his eyes and started moving, slowly. Still taking note of Sam’s reactions, but if Sam was feeling pain, he wasn’t letting it show; he was just moaning louder and louder as Dean sped up. When Dean curled a hand around his cock, Sam started making needy little sounds into the pillow, increasingly desperate until he cried out sharply, twitching and spilling in Dean’s hand. Dean only had to thrust a few more times before he was over the edge again himself, holding Sam’s hips like a lifeline, burying his face in his brother’s shoulder.  
  
When they managed to disengage, Dean tried to get behind Sam, tried to get a protective arm around him, but he somehow ended up in Sam’s embrace, Sam’s long body flush against his, an arm held tight across Dean’s chest. Sam seemed to fall asleep quickly. Dean couldn’t sleep for an hour or more, listening to his brother breathe, trying not to worry about the future and what this meant for them, for their family.  
  
***  
  
Maybe because it was because he had stayed awake so much longer, but Dean was only half conscious in the morning when Sam pressed a kiss to his neck and whispered that he was going to shower. When he woke up fully, Sam was already dressed and downstairs, making them scrambled eggs.  
  
The morning was surprisingly normal, as they shared breakfast and didn’t talk about what had happened the night before. It should have felt more awkward than it did, Dean thought. If his breath caught when he was doing the dishes and Sam brushed up against him to grab a paper towel and wipe down the table, well, it certainly wasn’t any worse than what he’d been dealing with for the past few weeks, and was actually easier in some ways. Even if it never happened again, at least Dean knew he wasn’t delusional.  
  
Their father got home early in the afternoon, and although Dean was conscious of having a secret, it wasn’t as awful as he’d feared. Once, he caught Sam looking at him with a strange expression, but as soon as he noticed it and threw Sam a questioning glance, Sam smiled and shrugged dismissively. Their father didn’t even notice the exchange. Dean began to hope that Sam had been right, that they would figure out a way to make this work.  
  
And then at dinner, Sam announced that he was going to Stanford on a full ride, to become a lawyer, and leave the family business behind forever.  
  
As Sam and John shouted at each other, Dean sat silently, stunned and so full of conflicting emotions, he didn’t even know how to begin to feel any of them. Eventually, John ordered Sam out of the house and immediately left himself, roaring off into the night in the Impala. Sam stomped up to his room to pack.  
  
Mechanically, Dean cleared the table and rinsed the dishes. Before he could start washing them, Sam came back downstairs, suitcase in hand and backpack slung over his shoulder. He threw them down in the middle of the kitchen floor.  
  
“Who the fuck does he think he is?” Sam said furiously. Dean blinked at him, unable to speak. “I mean, who hears that their kid got a full scholarship to a great school and gets _mad_ at them?”  
  
Dean swallowed down the lump that had risen in his throat, so big he thought he would choke.  
  
“Yeah,” was all he could think of to say. Sam, who had been staring into space, obviously addressing his questions more to their absent father than to Dean, looked at him quickly, the anger draining from his face.  
  
“Look, man,” he said, tone much softer now. “I’m sorry to spring this on you. I…I didn’t know how to tell you.”  
  
“Okay,” Dean managed to get out.  
  
“It’s just – this life, it’s – it isn’t what I want.”  
  
_Me_ , Dean thought. _I’m not what he wants. This family isn’t what he wants._ But he said nothing.  
  
Sam ran a hand through his hair. “It’s not like we’re never gonna see each other. You better visit me all the time, okay?”  
  
He tried to smile. Dean nodded dumbly. Sam picked up his bags.  
  
“I guess I should go before Dad gets home,” he said. “I’ll call you soon, okay?”  
  
He started to go. When he reached the doorway, Dean said, “Sammy?” He hadn’t even realized he was about to speak. Sam turned around.  
  
“Yeah, Dean?”  
  
“Last night?” It wasn’t much of a question, but it was as articulate as Dean was going to get just then.  
  
Sam dropped his baggage again and took a step towards him. Dean backed up immediately, till his ass hit the sink, and Sam stopped.  
  
“I just…I wanted to say goodbye,” he said, with a helpless gesture.  
  
Dean laughed, then, a small, bitter chuckle.  
  
“That’s not how most people say goodbye to their brothers,” he said.  
  
“I know.”  
  
Dean crossed his arms. It felt like that was the only thing keeping his guts in. “Look, so – if that was some kind of – of pity fuck –”  
  
Sam’s eyes widened. “No!” he said, sounding truly distressed. “No, I would never – look, it’s like you said, right? How could we live together after something like that?”  
  
Dean’s stomach dropped, but he said nothing.  
  
“But I couldn’t – I couldn’t go without doing it,” Sam continued, looking beseechingly into Dean’s eyes. “I just couldn’t.” Dean stared back him, face (he hoped) unreadable.  
  
Not unreadable enough, apparently, because Sam looked down. “I guess it was pretty selfish of me,” he said quietly. “But I wanted it so much, and –”  
  
Dean’s stomach churned, and he was suddenly afraid he was going to throw up, so he cut Sam off with a gesture. “It’s fine,” he said harshly. “You should go.”  
  
“Dean –”  
  
“Get the hell out of here,” Dean said.  
  
Sam looked stricken.  
  
“Before Dad gets back,” Dean amended hastily. “Call me as soon as you get settled, okay? Actually, call me sooner.”  
  
Sam nodded. “I will,” he whispered. He picked up his bags again, and a second later, he was gone.  
  
Dean listened to the door shut, and turned around slowly. He was confronted with a sink full of dishes, but he didn’t feel like doing them. Instead, he grabbed a beer from the fridge and went into the living room. He turned on the TV and collapsed on the couch, and waited for his father to get home.


End file.
